


The Widening Divide

by afteriwake



Series: Where Speech Ends [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock summons Molly to Baker Street to get her expertise on a case, but that isn't the entire truth. What ends up coming up in discussion has very little to do with the case and just shows the divide coming between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Widening Divide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horrorfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorfangirl/gifts).



> So this is one of the songfics for this series that is based on an instrumental song (in this case, it's David Garrett's cover of Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit") so there's no lyrics in the fic. You just have to imagine Sherlock listening to the song a million times on repeat. The question used to inspire this story came from the article "[10 Unexpectedly Fun Questions To Ask On A First Date](http://www.hellogiggles.com/questions-to-ask-on-a-first-date/)" by Lisa Lo Paro.

**What's the last book you read?**

She was glad he was back. Really, she was quite glad, despite the situation, because she didn't have to worry about him. But things were different now, and she was in a position she didn't really want to be in. She'd never had much attention from people, particularly men, and that was why she'd been surprised that Tom had noticed her, and not only had he noticed her but he'd pursued her. She was so used to pining after unattainable men like Sherlock or being used for whatever reason like with Moriarty. Tom wasn't like either of them. He was a nice man, kind and loving. And she did care about him, very much. But she realized she still cared about Sherlock in that way to a small degree and now she had to figure out if what she felt towards Sherlock was a fleeting fancy or not.

She hadn't gone back to Baker Street since the press conference and the awkwardness there. She hadn't exactly kept Tom secret, but Mary had been the only one who really knew anything about him. She had worried that her friends who had known Sherlock would judge her for picking someone who resembled him, even though Tom really was quite different. She had seen the questioning glances from everyone except Sherlock, who seemed rather oblivious to the similarities. But no one had said anything, at least to her or Tom, and so she'd slowly been letting her friends get to know him. All of them except Sherlock, that was. Sherlock had no interest in getting to know him, which was probably a good thing, to be honest. Though with John and Mary's wedding coming up and Sherlock being best man, she was fairly sure she wouldn't get to avoid the two of them being forced to chat at some point, which was going to be quite awkward.

She'd been avoiding Sherlock since he asked her for the pub crawl list, partly because she was embarrassed about dropping the unwanted tidbit about her shagging habits but mostly because she wasn't quite sure how she felt about things. Maybe it was residual fancying from all those years before his fall, maybe it was appreciating the way he treated her with more kindness in the few times they had interacted. Maybe for all she knew it was a way of acknowledging her biggest fear: that she didn't really love Tom and agreeing to marry him had been a gigantic mistake. Maybe what she was feeling towards Sherlock was her heart's way of telling her that she would regret marrying Tom. But even if that were true, there was very little chance Sherlock would return her feelings so really, it was down to being with Tom or being alone. There was no third option...right?

She shook her head to clear her thoughts as she opened the door. She needed to focus on the business at hand. Sherlock had sent her a text message saying he needed her expertise urgently, and so she'd left her office and quickly made her way to his home. Now that she was there, though, she wasn't sure it was a good idea. She should have insisted he come to her at the hospital. She stepped inside and stopped. She knew the song he was playing. She knew it quite well, actually. When she'd found out Sherlock was a talented violinist she'd begun to search out songs on the violin. Most classical music had been pleasant enough but didn't catch her fancy, but then she found violin, string quartet and orchestral covers of her favorite songs and she'd enjoyed them, and from there she'd branched out to listening to people like Lindsey Stirling and then man behind this song, David Garrett. This happened to be a cover of arguably the song that had defined her teenage angst, the only Nirvana song she still enjoyed to this day. So, she realized with a slight smile. He still had her iPod, or at least the songs on it. That was actually quite comforting.

“Sherlock?” she called out as the song reached its crescendo. “I'm here.” He didn't reply so she made her way up to the sitting room. He was sitting in his chair, violin against his chest and shoulder and fingers steepled in front of his face, facing the large wall that was usually empty. Right now it was covered with papers and photographs, some of them connected with bits of colored string stretched between thumbtacks. She studied it closely. She didn't recognize anyone in the photographs, so this must be for a case that didn't involve any of the bodies she currently had in her refrigeration unit.

It wasn't until the song ended and then began again that Sherlock spoke. “What was the last book you read for the purposes of your post, and what was the last book you read for leisure?” he asked quietly, breaking her out of her concentration with a slight start.

She thought for a moment as she went to sit in the chair that had been John's when he lived there. “Well, it wasn't a book so much as a paper, but I recently read something published in May 2010 about the chemical analysis of synthetic cannabinoids as designer drugs in herbal products. It dealt mainly with products sold in Japan, but it was of interest to a suspicious death that I was doing an autopsy for.”

“Which journal was it published in?” he asked, not turning to face her.

“Forensic Science International,” she said.

He was quiet for a full minute. “No, that won't work,” he said to himself.

“Pardon?” she asked

He moved a hand and waved her off. “Book for leisure?”

“The Sapphire Rose by David Eddings,” she said. “I found my hardcover copy when I was packing things up.”

“Why would you be packing things up?” he asked with mild curiosity, only now looking at her.

“Tom's supposed to move in next week,” she said. She could have sworn she saw his jaw clench ever so slightly, but after a moment it seemed maybe she had imagined it. “He needs space for his things.”

“I see,” he murmured. “How many pages are in it?”

“The book?” she asked, blinking. “I'm not sure. It's a medium length novel, I suppose.”

“More than 300?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes. Maybe a few dozen shy of 500, I think?”

“That will work,” he said. “I'm going to use it as a guide for encrypting some highly sensitive information.”

“Ah,” she said. “But...I thought you needed my expertise.”

“Mostly you're the only person I know who reads quite a bit,” he said, shooting up from his chair with the violin in his hand. He set it down on the table and begin moving about the room, gathering things up. “You fill your head with stories and facts, which most people I know do not do. I assumed if you'd read something for a case it might be long enough, though that wasn't likely, but you also would most likely have read a novel of some sort that would work.” He took the things he'd picked up and dumped them on the sofa, then stepped onto the empty cushion and began unpinning things from the wall. “Thank you for your assistance, Molly.”

She nodded, standing up. After a moment she realized he was ignoring her to focus on the case at hand, just like he always did when he was deep into something. She watched for a moment. “Have you eaten today?”

“I can go without food for quite a while,” he said, unpinning a bit of yellow string and then tossing it over his shoulder.

“I know that, but how long have you been without food this time?” she asked.

“I don't know. Sixteen hours, give or take?”

“Then I'm going to make you something,” she said, heading towards the kitchen.

“I wouldn't bother going in there,” he said. “I haven't done my shopping this week.”

She'd already made it to the refrigerator when he said that, and when she opened the door she could clearly see how empty it was. She closed it and then looked at him. “Fine, then. I'll order you something. Is Indian all right? I'm in the mood for Indian.”

He slowed what he was doing and then turned to look at her. “You're going to stay and eat with me?” he asked slowly.

“To make sure you actually eat, yes,” she said with a nod, pulling her mobile out of her handbag.

“Surely Tom won't approve of you having a meal with another man,” he said.

“Well, you're my friend whether he likes it or not,” she said. As she said it she realized that really, Tom had no reason to object but he probably would, and she didn't care. If they got into a row about it so be it. She was allowed to be friends with Sherlock, her past feelings for him aside. In fact, maybe he rather desperately needed a friend right now. She went looking for menus at that point.

“You should go,” Sherlock said quietly, and she stilled.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I shouldn't cause trouble for you,” he said, stepping down off the sofa and moving towards her. “You of all people deserve less trouble.”

“I'm a grown woman, Sherlock,” she said, standing up straight. “I can handle any trouble that might come up in my relationship.”

“Humour me,”he said. “I'll even place an order and pay for it myself in front of you and swear on my friendship with John that I'll eat it if you leave me in peace.”

“But you had me come over,” she pointed out.

“For something I could have clearly done over the phone.” He plucked her mobile out of her hands when he got close enough and went to his kitchen counter, picking a menu up at random. She watched him place the call and then order one of everything off the menu before hanging up. He went back over to her and handed her back her mobile. “The next time I need your assistance I won't trouble you with coming here.”

“Very well,” she said quietly, slipping her mobile into her handbag. “Just promise me you'll eat some of it now and the rest before it goes bad.”

“I promise,” he said. “I'll see you later, Molly.”

She nodded and turned, moving away from him and back down the stairs to leave. It was quite obvious he didn't want her around, she realized as he turned the volume up on the song and the sounds of the orchestra crashed down upon her. And she supposed that was how it was always going to be, no matter how much she might want it to be different. That answered the question, she supposed. No matter how things turned out with Tom, there was definitely no third option, and that thought was actually quite depressing, even if it wasn't altogether surprising. But she had her answer now, and she should make the best of it.


End file.
